


Just This Once

by PinboardButterfly



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/F, If Hawke Remained in the Fade, Romance, Sad, Sad Ending, What Have I Done, What-If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-08
Updated: 2017-10-08
Packaged: 2019-01-10 22:02:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12308712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PinboardButterfly/pseuds/PinboardButterfly
Summary: How Isabela reacts if Hawke remains in the Fade.(Or, alternatively - how to break my heart in a few short steps. Obvious spoilers for Inquisition.)





	Just This Once

**Author's Note:**

> Just an FYI: I have never left my Hawke in the Fade, just because I can't imagine facing Isabela/Varric's reaction if I did (or anyone from 2's reaction for that matter). So I wrote this instead, thinking that it was somehow better. Oh well.

“You’re going _where_ now?”

Morning light spills in through the open window on the opposite side of the room. Isabela lies beside Hawke, their legs entwined beneath the silk of the sheets. Isabela’s jewellery tinkles as she moves, propping herself up on one arm to better convey her look of horror at the other woman’s statement. Hawke sighs, lying on her back, dark hair splayed across her pillow as she gazes up at the ceiling.

“Skyhold. Varric contacted me, asking if I – ”

“Tell him no.” Isabela’s tone is sharp, reprimanding, almost. “You’ve given these people enough already.”

When Hawke opens her mouth to protest, the Rivaini’s hand sneaks across her torso under the covers, tracing delicate, teasing patterns across her skin, voice equally playful. Hawke shivers, eyes meeting Isabela’s at last.

“And I’m _not_  about to let you leave me all alone here.”

Hawke chuckles, rolling over with a sudden ferocity, wrapping her arms about the pirate, pulling her into a fervour of hungry kisses across naked flesh. Isabela squeals, batting her away, laughing. They tumble over each other beneath the sheets, fingers finding fistfuls of dark hair, and teeth finding blossoming bruises across bare skin.

When they pull apart, breathless, eyes sparkling with excitement, it is Hawke’s smile who falls first. “I can’t just turn my back on this, Isabela.”

Isabela pouts. “Yes, you can. How will I entertain myself without you?”

“You’ll figure something out,” Hawke snickers. “You always do. Sail to Antiva. Hunt down an old rival. Rob the Empress of Orlais. You’ll have a ball without me here to keep you in at least the moral grey areas of the law.”

“That’s precisely why I _need_ you here. Who’ll break me out of jail if I slip up - _again?_ And, anyway, what’s so important that Varric has to steal you away to Ferelden? Surely, he can figure whatever it is out by himself? Perhaps I gave him more credit than he deserves.”

Hawke’s tone is level. “It’s Corypheus.”

Isabela’s face drops. “Oh.”

Hawke places a final, gentle kiss on the Rivaini’s nose and then gets out of bed, collecting up her clothes and armour and gets dressed while she talks. Isabela watches, heart fluttering a little, out of worry, or something else, she isn’t sure. All the pirate knows is that this is a horrible, horrible idea. And she’s quick to recognise one, having executed so many bad ones herself.

“Varric wrote me several weeks ago about Red Templars – those who’d consumed the same kind of red lyrium we found in the Deep Roads, and have become something… _monstrous_. And now, it seems, they are under the control of Corypheus. It can’t be coincidental. And it’s my fault, that he’s out there, right now. Varric needs my help – the _Inquisition_ needs my help. Haven was destroyed, hundreds of people killed, because of _me_. I can’t just turn them away, not when all this is my doing.”

Isabela stays silent for a long while after Hawke has finished speaking. By now the rogue has slipped on all her armour, sheathed her dual blades on her back, and is leaning against the vanity, breathing in a controlled manner, deeply enough that Isabela has come to recognise she does so when she is worried.

“Let me come with you.”

Hawke turns, incredulous. “You can’t be serious. You’re not…serious, are you?”

Isabela chuckles, slipping out from under the covers, sashaying over nude to her lover. “What, think I can’t handle some templar-mind-controlling-undead-god? I can’t just let you have all the fun.”

Hawke visibly struggles. “Yes. No. Isabela – I can’t lose you. I already lost you once. It won’t happen again.”

Isabela opens her mouth to protest - _I came back, didn't I?_   - but is silenced by a kiss, a deep, passionate one, that almost makes her a little dizzy when Hawke at last pulls away.

“Promise me,” she says, noses touching, voice low, “that you will stay here, and stay _safe_.”

Isabela’s heart sinks, but she nods, knowing that there will be no changing the other rogue’s mind. “How long will you be gone?”

“I don’t know. And – and I’m not asking you to live indoors, or anything equally ridiculous. Just…stay out of _too_ much trouble, alright? I want my swashbuckling badass all in one piece when I get back.”

Isabela grins as she feels a slightly sharp gauntleted hand slide down, down to the small of her back, and squeezes it gently. “I thought _I_ was the Captain. Aren’t I the one who’s supposed to be giving the orders around here?”

Hawke laughs, stealing another kiss from the Rivaini’s lips. “Oh, don’t worry, Issy – I am well and truly yours to do with as you see fit. But just this once, do this for me. Please.”

Isabela nods. “If that is what you wish.”

It is a decision Isabela will regret for the rest of her life. In the days following Hawke’s announcement, she leaves, taking the first ship to Ferelden and the mountain fortress of Skyhold, leaving Isabela to her own devices. It is the first time since the uprising in Kirkwall she has been without the Champion. She pretends it is unburdening, but in reality, the pirate feels nothing but worry, and an aching emptiness that only Hawke can fill. For weeks, she eagerly awaits letters sent by her lover, updating her of her progress, and her arrival at Skyhold. The Inquisitor, it seems, is a Dalish elf – not only that, but a mortalitasi mage as well. Hawke describes him as very kindly, respectful, and level-headed. Almost everything the rogue is not. Isabela giggles a little at that. Hawke was always a wild card. It must be hard having someone so gentle making decisions on her behalf.

And then, suddenly, the letters stop. The last one Isabela receives is written hastily, Hawke’s usually looping script a mess across the page.

_Something is wrong. We leave at sundown for Adamant. I love you._

Isabela leaves the night the letter arrives. It takes almost a week to reach Skyhold, and when she does, Varric is not there – no-one to verify her identity, so she is forced to stay on one of the rooms off of the hall, under armed guard, until someone can speak to her. News trickles in. Skyhold is impressively large and full of riches, but Isabela is not paying attention. On her second day there, one of the Inquisitor’s advisors comes to speak to her.

The moment the blond steps inside the room Isabela is on her feet, drawing her blade before she can think. He rests his hands on the hilt of his sword, slung about his waist. She eyes him up; dressed in full armour, a cloak trimmed with red feathers slung about his shoulders. The pirate narrows her eyes.

“You’re a templar.”

The man nods. “Very perceptive of you. I used to be, and I didn’t expect you to remember me, Isabela. My name is Cullen Rutherford, formerly of the templars under Knight-Commander Meredith’s command in Kirkwall during the mage uprising.”

Isabela’s eyes widen, and she drops her blade. “I… _do_ remember you. You helped us. You helped Hawke defeat Meredith.”

“Yes.” Cullen clears his throat. Isabela notes the paleness of his face, the redness about his eyes. _He’s ill._ “And I will help now any way I can.”

Isabela breathes out a shaky breath, sheathing her weapon. “Hawke said she went to Adamant. But that was over a week ago. Where is she? Why hasn’t she returned yet, like everyone else has? And Varric? Has there been no news?”

Cullen sighs, and leans against the stone wall of the room, breathing a little heavy. “I was there. The Grey Wardens had fallen under Corypheus’s control, and his dragon attacked. _Something_ happened. Something to do with the Rifts in the Fade, but what, I can’t say. Hawke and the Inquisitor were atop the fortress when the attack happened.”

Isabela bites back the anger in her voice. “What are you saying, Commander? Where are they?”

“Only one of them could make it out alive.”

Isabela’s stomach hits the floor. Her hand immediately goes to her mouth. She feels overwhelmingly, violently sick.

“As I have heard it, someone had to stay behind to distract the Nightmare, a demon they encountered in the Fade, so that the rest could escape. Inquisitor Lavellan spoke very highly of Hawke’s bravery. As far as I am aware, she felt responsible for Corypheus’s destruction. The Inquisitor…” Cullen swallows thickly “…asked that she remain behind, to give them a chance to escape.”

Isabela can’t breathe. Her heart pounds, and it’s all she can hear. She tastes blood in her mouth, she must have bit her tongue. _So why can’t I feel a thing?_

“No.” Isabela shakes her head numbly. “No. I don’t believe you – she can’t be, I – I –”

She only realises she is lashing out at the Commander with her hands when they connect with the metal of his breastplate, and he has to hold her wrists to get her to stop. He looks at her wearily, real pain behind his eyes. She exhales, slowly, and he nods, dropping her arms. She steps away.

“I want to speak to the Inquisitor. Right now.”

Cullen nods weakly. “Of course.”

Speaking to the Inquisitor doesn’t help. He is very understanding, very kind, frustratingly so. It almost makes Isabela feel bad for punching him in the face. Almost. All she can think is that he took Hawke away from her. That is all he will ever be to her. The monster who killed the only woman she ever truly loved. She protests – they can go back into the Fade, get Hawke back, it’s possible, she insists, it is, but no-one agrees. No-one has entered the Fade like that in years and lived to tell the tale. It is impossible to do so again. And far too dangerous. The Inquisitor acknowledges he isn’t even sure how they got in there to begin with.

And Isabela lashes out. The Champion of Kirkwall is so much more than her title. She is endless humour at their games of Wicked Grace. She is deadly to the people who hurt her friends. She is dangerously forgiving, even after Isabela betrayed her and ran away. She is the wisecracking ace in a dungeon full of demons. She is the only one who can get Fenris to smile, to get Anders to see sense, to get Varric drunk, to unburden Aveline of her duties, even just for the night. She talked Merrill out of using the Eluvian. She kisses Isabela like fire kisses snow. She is so much more than the symbol everyone sees.

“I’m sorry, Isabela.”

The Inquisitor’s tone is sincere. She looks away, unable to meet his gaze. Her voice is thick with regret.

“As am I.”

In the months to follow, Isabela will frequently take out the last letter she ever received from the Champion, carelessly crumpled after her first reading, but now smoothed out countless times by her hands in an attempt to preserve it. She reads it over and over again. And again. And again. _Adamant. Wrong. Sundown._

_I love you._

Sometimes, but not often (usually when she gets drunk), Isabela takes out the note, and chokes back tears.

_I love you._

Most of the time, she wishes she’d tried harder to get Hawke to stay. When the others found out, too, they were horrified, Fenris and Merrill especially.

_I love you._

_And now_ , she thinks, not for the first, as she reads the note for the thousandth time, _I will never get to kiss her again._


End file.
